Nightmare's Of The Bat Boys
by knowmyname
Summary: They all have nightmares. It's something that bonds them together, makes them closer. If only for this moment in time. It makes them stronger, it makes them weaker... What ever it makes them, it makes them family.


**Damian has nightmares.**

They're not scary; he doesn't wake up in a cold sweat, a gasp on his lips. He's programmed, or, it's in his DNA not to dream. So he dreams of nothing. Or at least the _opposite_ of something. There's a difference.

The opposite of sound is not silence; the opposite of life is not death. There is a difference. And it is lonely.

So when Damian wakes from the burning loneliness, empty darkness and loud silence, he simply opens his eyes. He stares at the ceiling, blue eyes focusing on nothing in the dark. Out of his bay window the stars shine on the outskirts of Gotham giving the slightest light to his room.

He doesn't wake with a cold sweat on his neck or with gasp on his lips.

But it hurts. The lonely, sucking, threatening and utter _emptiness_ where there should be something truly hurts. He won't admit it. Ever. He won't allow himself to come to terms with this weakness, just like with all his others. Won't admit that it hurts, pulls on his heart strings and makes his lonely soul ache.

It's sad. It's depressing. But he knows nothing different.

But this one night, when the summer heat is absolutely unbearable, he can't stay in his humid room and wait for 'sleep' to take him again. He's woken up three times already, that's two times more than usual.

He rolls out of bed and away from the hot and clinging sheets. His night clothes are too hot, too confining for the summer heat. So, stripping off his shirt, he walks on skilled feet to his door and stalks silently down the hallway.

**Tim has nightmares.**

Poor Tim. A young boys tortured soul. No longer Robin but somehow not feeling completely like he's Timothy Jackson Drake… Well, Drake-Wayne.

He's lost too many people. Mother and father, Stephanie, Bart… Kon. He'd lost Bruce for a while too.

So, when he actually sleeps, which he almost never does, he dreams of loneliness. There's no one there except their graves. Maybe he's dead too, trapped in the dark wasteland of a graveyard that stretches forever. Anyone he ever knew, knows and could possibly ever come in contact with… Is dead.

He dreams of loneliness. So bitter and cold that he can't help but force himself awake lest he drown in it.

He hides everything. His family knows he dreams of this, but that makes no difference. He hides his pain, his fear of loss, his fear of getting close to anyone. But at the same time he desires that closeness. He can't let himself get close… he's bad luck.

So when he wakes up, it is in a cold sweat, but no sound, no movement. His blue eyes are on his window where he can see a few stars. There's the moon, ever so lonely like he is. Tim finds his arms already wrapped around a pillow, already holding it close like it's another body. The hot summer air forces him to let go and stand, the sweaty sheet trying to keep him there.

He reaches a hand up and wipes a few stray tears from the corner his blue eyes. His room is too hot, too lonely. He makes his way to the door, feet dragging silently on the carpet as he enters the dark hallway.

**Jason has nightmares.**

They come every night. A curse. So he tries not to sleep, but he's no fucking owl like Tim. He can't ignore his tired body. So the dreams force themselves upon him.

Jason does wake up in a cold sweat, does have a gasp on his lips and sits bolt upright. He's sure it's some sort of damn curse. He's been to hell and back _literally_. Of course he's going to have nightmares.

It's hard. Sometimes he dreams of dying. Other times it's his awakening, clawing out of the ground, dirt and mud in his eyes, his clothes and his mouth. Disorientation, the world spins, his body hurts. His body is on fucking fire. His brain isn't much better.

Waking up is sometimes even worse.

He can't force himself to leave the dreams so they play out until it gets too much for his subconscious. Still, as bad as his dreams are, waking up can be worse.

This time he wakes up ready to scream. He'd never admit this weakness; it's one that's too personal. He knows he's not perfect, but this secret, these dreams are too painful, too agonizing to share. So he wakes up clawing at the sheets, pulling at his hair and scraping his skin. There's no one there. That's why it's hard. There's no one there to hold him down and tell him he's fine, it's all in the past…

But he's Jason fucking Todd. He wouldn't let someone do that. Wouldn't allow that side of him to be seen. _Ever._

So he wakes up that night almost falling out of bed, which he ends up doing. He's on the carpet, the faint light from the night sky licking across the floor through his window. Huffing, he pushes himself up and clears his head quickly. The summer heat is too much, his room is too humid.

Treading on heavy feet that may as well be dead, he stalks down the dark hallways.

**Dick has nightmares.**

They're not as often as when he was little, in fact, there almost never there. He's grown used to them, gained closure from his parents deaths all those many _many_ years ago. Makes no difference though when he has them on occasion.

On that night, he wakes up, clutching his sheets, his pillow, curled in on himself like he'd been watching a horror movie. Which he sort of had.

Their bodies… They'd hit the ground so hard and fast… they practically exploded. No way of getting around that fact, it was too blatantly obvious when he remembered looking down at their mangled and broken bodies, blood literally splattered on the ground around them, skulls crushed and gray matter…

It makes him want to throw up, makes him want to curl up by the toilet while the images flash by relentlessly. It's a sight humans were never meant to see. That kind of sight, well, was just too gory for any one, _anyone_, to recover from completely.

But he's made so much progress.

When he wakes up that night, he's instantly untangling himself from the sheets he was clinging to. Then when he's free, Dick is sprinting to the bathroom across the hall. He's getting sick over the toilet as quietly as he can manage. He can't wake anyone.

He's tired, but there's no way he's getting to sleep after that. The night is too hot anyways to lie under his sweaty sheets.

Moving on agile feet, he moves silently down the dark halls as if some unknown force is pulling him.

**[0]**

Jason is nearing the living room. Like _hell_ he's going to sleep again, no way he'll be able to settle down enough. He's got a bowl of cereal in one hand when he hears a noise, a rustle like footsteps. One of his fucking _brothers_ no doubt. Insert scowl here.

Tim is nearing the living room as well, only via another hallway. He'd watch TV, let the sound lull him back to sleep. But he hears footsteps in a different hallway. Maybe Dick is up too.

Dick is also up. Only, he's found Jason. The younger man scowls at him with all he's got, but stays silent. Their sure they hear other footsteps. Dick wants to hug his brother, find a little reassurance in the embrace that maybe he isn't the only one that has sleepless nights sometimes. Jason shirks off the embrace.

Damian didn't think anyone would be up, but hides his surprise behind a usual scowl. Drake is headed for the living room as well and has already seen him. He's not going to turn away now, not now that Drake might be able to hold his sleepless night against him. So he continues and beats Tim's to the door sending a disapproving look to the older boy.

Dick is surprised. They all entered at the same time. Tim seems relieved, Damian a bit miffed. Dick, without a word, loops an arm around Jason's shoulders and pulls him to the couch while gripping one of Damian's hands as he passes. Tim fallows as well. Jason grunts when he lands on the sofa, precariously balancing the cereal in his hands as if it were a delicate treasure. Dick settles himself between Jason and Damian. The youngest ends up propping his feet on the vacant area of the couch, not allowing Drake a space to seat himself.

Tim looks rejected. Maybe he is alone after al-

A hand pulls on his wrist and gently sits him on Dick's lap. Jason grunts again when his cereal is jostled. Damian gives is old partner a disapproving glance, but makes space for Tim none the less.

The TV is turned on, volume low and channel unknown.

The brothers are silent, an understanding passing between them.

**Bruce has nightmares.**

Still. Still has them after so many years.

They're not often, but they're there.

He doesn't sleep on those nights. He stalks the dark halls like a ghost, practically part of the shadows.

Before he knows it, he's in the living room. The low volume drew him in along with the light, just to check and see who is awake.

All four of them sit there. By now, they're all half asleep and draped over each other like it's nobody's business. Jason is the first to see Bruce. He elbows Dick where he's leaning against him. Dick in turn jostles the other two brothers that have crawled into his lap to share in the 'snuggling'.

They all see him now.

"You too, eh?" Dick speaks. Of course he would say it, none of his siblings want to.

Bruce is silent. For a moment, he doesn't realize the acrobat had spoken, he was too busy…

Busy basking in the sight. The four of them. The four brothers. His four _sons_. He's sure he'll never see this sight again.

Registering Dick's voice, he looks up at the oldest son. Blue eyes meet and their sharing an understanding.

When he nods though, he's smiling. That's strange.

"Are you gonna' take a fucking seat or what?" Jason scoffs. Damian scowls at his brother from where he is curled up on the other side of Dick. Tim flinches when he feels the tension rising.

But as soon as stress level rises, it's gone. All four are back to gazing half lidded at the TV and Bruce moves to take a seat in one of the chairs. A small noise stops him. Looking up, he see's Tim looking at him, blue eyes sparkling sadly. Bruce gets the message.

He moves. He sits on the floor in front of the couch, in front of the cushion Dick sits on. Someone puts a hand on his shoulder. It's Dick.

"Us too," he reassures his father. "We've got them too."

_**A/N:**_ _Hi. I don't think we've met. My name is Mark, short for Marcus. Guess whose brother I am. Moe's, that's right, good job. If you don't know who Moe is, you obviously have not read any of his other stories. I think he's into author's notes and that stuff. I am not Moe. Moe did not write this. I am Mark. Although I may look exactly like Moe, I. Am. Not. Moe. Thank you._

_He bribed me into typing something for you all because he's sick and can't think of anything. Here. Have this delicious slice of cake that I created. Aren't you proud? Now leave a freaking review. Goodbye._

_Love (I guess) from Mark. Not Moe._

_Not Moses, Marcus._

_Goodbye._


End file.
